Brick Lane again. I’m walking around and feeling every inch the Home Counties twat that I clearly am. Look at you with your expensive boots and flash camera; twat. Even so I am filled with a sense of excitement by the atmosphere on the Lane. I swim through the thick treacle of culture and wonder at the edginess of entrepreneurial risk taking that is every where you look, and as I do so, I recall my own days as a ‘bright young thing’ in the early days of the internet when we were going to invent the world for the very first time and everything was possible in a ‘fuck yeah’ kind of way.

But then I realise that it is today and I am neither bright, nor young and probably not even a thing except for in the eyes of two young boys (who genuinely adore me and I them but then that’s sort of a given isn’t it?)

I’d love to reinvent myself and start over. There isn’t a moment I go out with my camera and think perhaps I should just resign from my well paid job in sales and reinvent myself as a photographer. But I’m no longer the only one relying on me making something of myself and to be honest, these days it is more than enough to be something to two small boys with wonder and dreams in their eyes, even if I am nothing more than a reasonable competent, well intentioned but otherwise dull average Joe everyone else.

But still everyone in Brick Lane is inventing something; everyone is an entrepreneur with a new ‘new thing’ to sell. It is a terribly exciting place to be.

I see Ole from across the road and catch myself; fabulous black skin, sharp suit, bright red tie, green railings. It cries out to me but I hesitate because it’s Brick Lane and I’m a middle-aged twat. I’m also white and he’s black and this is odd because what holds me back is the sense of risk, of ‘cultural appropriation’, something I’ve read about and understand on an intellectual level (I have a degree in culture and anthropology after all) but am only ever a hair breadth away from being guilty of. I pause and reflect and then think ‘fuck it, we need to engage more, we need to acknowledge issues of race more and it’s too good a picture to waste.’

So I head on over and catch the guy before he gets too far beyond the green railings and persuade him to let me take his picture.

“This is my card” he says after I’ve taken his picture. I give him one of mine and accept his, feeling the quality of the paper and the embossed logo. I immediately think of the film ‘American Psycho’, the bit where they engage in a bit of blokey dick swinging over who has the most prestigious card and I feel I’m definitely on the back foot with my little square thing with a pink border and somewhat pretentious but well intentioned nonsense about ‘the three selves’ printed on it.

“Ah you're the CEO of the company. What does your company do?” I hesitate in my mind hoping that he won’t pick up on the unintended note of surprise and interpret it as ‘hey, a black CEO, who knew’.

“Well that's my old company, we're just starting a new one, providing capital to new ventures in the Middle East, but you can still get me on these details”.

I breath a sigh of relief, congratulate him and wish him luck with his new venture and then make my excuses and say goodbye.

I wasn’t sure if the image would turn out well or not. To be honest I still don’t know but I’m not sure it matters; I learned something from the encounter even if it was a risk. I have learned that even if you run the risk of offending someone, of revealing your unconscious biases or coming over just like a twat, if your intentions are good and honest, then it’s OK.